Loctaine The Vampyre

Loctaine arose from his insidious tomb. A spectyre of the night. He grooms himself for another venture of deception.

The dark prince enters the misty haze of twilight, bound for the downtown nightclubs full of unknowing maidens.

He creeps about in the shadows of alleys, like a ravenous beast in search of prey. A young devotchka lingers, smoking a cigarette, humming a pop tune. He approaches her with a smooth stride. “Can I offer you another cigarette my dear?”, he enticingly asks. “Why sure mister, you are so kind.”, she says.

He engages her in a seductive and alluring discourse. After a captivating entrancement, he invites her to his nearby flat. With jovial acceptance she is snared into his trap.

Upon entering his gothic realm, she is overwhelmed with lust. She looks into his sapphire eyes and feels her blood boil. With reckless desire she kisses him; it would be her final kiss.

He unsheathes his implement of devastation; a small razor drawn from his necklace. With a swift slice, the ruby pulsing life cascades from her veins. In a rapturous scream she succumbs to his unearthly passion.

As he draws her blood into his eternal corpse, her soul nourishes the hunger of his wretched existence. He pulls away to make the final conquest. He slices his tongue to shed his own decaying blood and transfers the lineage of vampyres before him.

Her eyes turn a mystifying opal green and eternal doom is laid before her.